


Starlight In Another World

by winterfool



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfool/pseuds/winterfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A century ago, war between humans and the Dalish clans tore Fereldan apart. Peace was only reached when both sides agreed to withdraw to either side of the Drakon River and never to set foot in the other's territory.</p>
<p>When Cullen Rutherford crosses the river to win a bet, he meets Eilidh Lavellan. Neither of their lives will ever be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

Cullen was eleven years old, a week away from starting his training to be a soldier, and he was about to do the most stupid thing he had ever done. There was one rule ground into every human child from the moment they were old enough to toddle around on their feet and into trouble: _do not, ever, cross the bridge_.

That was the rule Cullen was about to break. 

He had only to walk another twenty feet or so. The bridge stretched out in front of him, and he wondered if it was his imagination, fuelled by years of warnings and stories designed to scare, or if it really was as ominous and foreboding as it seemed. 

A few weathered slabs of stone visible amid the overgrown grass before it, practically obscured by weeds and dry brush, were all that remained of the path that had once been here. They might once have been gleaming white, but had been worn down to a dull grey that blended with the shadows. The whole place spoke of neglect and disuse. What had probably once been a well-tended wood – perhaps lining the path – was now a wildnerness. Trees competed for space, branches tangling together to form a thick canopy of leaves. Bushes and creeping plants grew up and around the roots and trunks, rustling as birds, squirrels and other more threatening animals moved among them. If he looked back now Cullen would see only trees and rocky ground, though he had walked no more than an hour from his home.

He moved cautiously towards the bridge, each step tentative, as though he might trigger some kind of trap at any moment. When he reached the beginning of the bridge, he stopped for a moment to gather his courage and, while he did so, peered over the side. The bridge was made of the same stone as the path, though it was a brighter grey and still white in places. It was a solid but beautiful thing, supported by soaring, vaulted arches carved with spiral patterns. It must have taken many years, and many hands, to build. 

From the intricate stonework, Cullen’s eyes were drawn to the rocky walls of the canyon that the bridge spanned. He didn’t want to think about how far down the drop plunged; just looking made his head spin and his feet itch. It was a sheer, vertical drop. There were no ledges or outcrops, nowhere to find purchase. And at the bottom the river rushed along, the shadows making the water seem black – apart from where white foam broke against the rock walls of the channel.

Fereldan, already cut off from most of the rest of Thedas by the Frostback mountains, was carved almost completely evenly into two by the great Drakon River that ran from the mountain range straight down to the Amaranthine Ocean. At some places it was shallower than others so, if the weather was good and the waters calm, a strong swimmer could probably pass unaided, but for most of its course the river cut a deep, dangerous channel, just as it did here. Supposedly in the past there had been bridges spanning it at even intervals from the mountains to the sea, but if that was ever true then all but one of them had been destroyed. 

This single bridge was the only truly safe place to cross the Drakon, but no one who valued their skin would set foot on it.

Jerking his eyes back up, Cullen took a deep, steady breath and slowly placed one foot on the bridge. When he wasn’t immediately shot down or struck by lightning he relaxed, but only fractionally.

If he was caught by the Dalish on the other side of the bridge he would die, and even if he managed to get across and back without getting caught if his parents or his older sister ever found out he’d be thrashed to within an inch of his life anyway.

He brought his other foot alongside, so both were on stone instead of grass.

Part of him couldn’t believe he was really doing this. He _never_ broke the rules. He worked hard, he did as he was told, he sang the Chant of Light every morning and evening, he was one of the most dutiful pages at the barracks. This had to be a dream; soon he would wake up in a cold sweat, equals parts impressed and terrified at his make-believe daring. Because in no world could he actually be contemplating crossing the bridge.

He took a tiny step forward.

It was all Alistair’s fault. Stupid Alistair, who never did was he was told, wasn’t dutiful at all and always forgot the words to the Chant of Light. Alistair had gone and opened his big stupid mouth and bet that Cullen didn’t have to guts to cross the bridge, and now his pride was at stake. He had to go, or Alistair would lord it over him forever and Cullen couldn’t bear that.

There were a hundred more steps to the other side. To Dalish territory. He could feel his resolve weakening, wanted to turn around and go home.

He thought of Alistair, grinning smugly and crowing about being right.

He could not lose this bet.

“Maker save me,” he muttered. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and started running as fast as he could go. 

Heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears, he ran until the slapping sound of his boots hitting the stone was replaced by the soft thump of them hitting soil. But even as he realised with a mix of disbelieving triumph and cold anxiety - I actually did it. I crossed the bridge – his foot hit a stone, or maybe a tree root, pain exploded up his toes and he lost his balance.

His eyes snapped open as he fell forward, and he couldn’t help a yell of fright when, in the split second before he crashed into the ground, he realised the other side of the bridge lead to a long, steep incline, and he was about to go down it head-first. He tried to twist to land on his shoulder, and it must have worked because pain jolted down his back rather than his head, but then he was rolling uncontrollably down the hill and stones and roots were hitting every single part of his body. There must also have been several thick bushes further down the incline, as leaves started whipping at his exposed skin, leaving thin cuts and scratches. 

When he finally came to a stop he was curled on his side, knees drawn up to his chest and arms over his head to try and protect himself as best he can. He stayed that way for a few moments until he realised he had stopped moving, when he flopped over on to his back, breathing heavily. His whole body felt like one giant bruise, sore and aching all over. 

He shifted his legs experimentally and grimaced as they throbbed; he might have to crawl back up that hill. 

That was if he could climb it. Turning his head to the side, he realised it was a lot steeper than he had realised, sloping down at a sharp angle. It would be tough to navigate. He didn’t want to linger in Dalish territory any longer than absolutely necessary, but perhaps, once the initial pain of falling had eased off a bit, he should scout around for an easier path. 

When it no longer felt like there were two tight iron bands around his chest or like his limbs were made of lead, he tentatively rolled over on to his stomach and pushed himself up to hands and knees. It was still painful, but bearably so. Getting to his feet, he wondered what he excuse he could use to explain away his injuries to his parents.

A flash of light on something between the trees caught his eye and he sucked in his breath in alarm. Had his fall been louder than he realised? Had some Dalish come investigating?

He ducked down behind a tree, heart thumping wildly in his chest. Frightened, not even daring to breathe too much, he peered around the trunk and – 

\- saw a lake, presumably fed from an underground tributary of the Drakon. The flash he had seen had been the sunlight glinted off the water. 

Cullen’s shoulders slumped with relief and he let out a long sigh. No, no, he was being silly. He had had to walk a good hour from his home to get to the bridge, and surely the Dalish wouldn’t build their settlements any closer than the humans did. There wouldn’t be anybody and no one would have heard him. 

He couldn’t deny being glad of the sight of a lake though; he felt caked in dirt after his tumble down the hill, and if he came home filthy it would be a lot harder to escape awkward questions. Coming out from his hiding place, he stumbled over to the water’s edge and knelt down beside it. The water was blessedly cold on his hands and face, soothing away some of the aches and scrapes. A few drops trickled uncomfortably down his shirt collar but he didn’t mind, just glad of the refreshment.

He did his best to wash his hands and face clean of the smudges of dirt and grass-stains, and ran his wet hands through his hair to dislodge the few leaves and twigs that had stuck in his curls. Cullen was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t realise there was someone behind him until he felt the cold sting of a metal point against his neck. 

His entire body went rigid, and his insides suddenly seemed to be made of ice. He closed his eyes, waiting for the death blow, thinking, I hope Alistair tells my mother what happened, but it never came. Instead a curiously high voice said sharply, “Get up slowly and turn around, _shem_.”

Legs shaking slightly, he did as he was told, and now beneath the terror was also a flutter of curiosity. Although from a young age he had heard stories of the fearsome Dalish elves – savage warriors with pointed ears and teeth who painted their faces in blood – he had never seen one before. He wondered if they wore armour, like the knights whose ranks he aspired to join, or if they really did just run around in animal skins.

Nothing could have prepared him for the elf with whom he actually found himself confronted. 

Her ears were indeed long and pointed as he had been told, but her skin was as bare as any human’s. She wore a plain blouse, breeches and leather boots, little different to the clothes Cullen himself was wearing. Her long, dark brown hair was tied back in a neat braid, only a few stray waves escaping around her face, not shorn off or decorated with bones. She was also young, no older than Cullen was and probably a year or two younger.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Cullen glanced nervously down at the blade in her hand. It was no more than a long dagger, but she was small and slight in build so it seemed bigger. The way she held it suggested she had only just started learning to use it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t cut his throat if she wanted.

“Are you g-going to – to kill me?” he asked, and was ashamed at the tremor in his voice. If he was going to die he wanted to meet his end bravely, not stammering and certainly not with his bottom lip quivering because boys who were about to start training to be a soldier did _not_ have bottom lips that quivered.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed the Dalish girl’s face, and it occurred to Cullen that she had probably never killed anyone before. But that was certainly what she was supposed to do. 

No one was sure now exactly how it had started, the reasons lost to history so only garbled explanations that changed with each person telling them remained. But the fact was that, some few hundred years ago now, the animosity and tension that had always existed between the humans and the Dalish clans had bubbled over into war.

Cities were burnt to the ground, clans slaughtered, and the whole of Fereldan became a place of fear and destruction where everyone was terrified to set foot outside their homes. The numbers of both elves and humans dwindled, until leaders of both sides were forced to admit that an agreement much be reached or their peoples would never be able to rebuild. 

So, a summit was called. And after many long negotiations fraught with distrust and suspicion, a treaty was agreed upon. The humans retreated to one side of the river, the Dalish to the other, and neither side would encroach on the territory of the others. 

According to Cullen’s teachers, that was over a century ago, but tensions still remained that could easily flare into another war. The uneasy peace with the Dalish only survived because no one ever crossed the bridge. If the Dalish found a human in their territory they killed them on sight and left body next to the bridge as a warning, just as the humans did any elf captured on their side.

Cullen had broken the treaty by crossing the bridge. It was this girl’s right now to kill him for it.

“Maybe,” she said now, but she didn’t sound too sure of herself. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here? Why did you cross the bridge?”

“I …” Cullen hesitated. His answer was foolish, but what lie could he tell that wouldn’t be worse? And besides, if he was about to die, it really didn’t matter. “Someone bet me I wasn’t brave enough to do it.”

She stared at him for a moment, then snorted. Actually _snorted_. 

“A bet? You’re here because of a bet. Well, that’s stupid.”

Embarrassed, Cullen scowled. “I know. But I couldn’t let him be _right_.”

She was laughing fully now, her shoulders shaking, and as her lips curled back Cullen saw her teeth weren’t pointed at all. Her laugh was high and bright, full mirth instead of malice, and something in him seemed to relax, some instinct telling him she wouldn’t hurt him. 

When she could speak again, she lowered her blade and looked up at him. The suspicion in her eyes had faded, leaving only a kind of curiosity. “You’re a funny _shemlen_.”

“I … thank you?”

She held his gaze for a long moment, her green eyes assessing as they moved over his face. He had to resist the urge to stand straighter, arms at attention, as he had when he had been scrutinised by the Knight Captain when he asked to be taken on as a recruit, not sure that would help him seem less of a threat. 

For perhaps the first time ever, Cullen found himself wishing he was a little more like Alistair; under such scrutiny Alistair would be unable to hold himself still and would keep fidgeting, but he would probably then crack a silly joke to ease the tension and end up making himself a new best friend. Cullen had never possessed that kind of but social ease, taking time to feel comfortable around people he didn’t know well.

It the end it seemed he needn’t worry, as the Dalish girl sheathed her dagger with only a small amount of hesitation. Her mouth was slightly twisted to one side, though, as if she were doubting her own decision, but she didn’t make any move to change her mind.

“You’re not going kill me.” Cullen couldn’t help wondering why, exactly, she had decided to spare him, but was wary of asking outright in case her doubts got the better of her.

She shook her head. “No.”

He settled for asking, “Won’t you get in trouble? I mean … the other Dalish won’t mind?”

A faintly guilty expression crept over her face, her eyes jerking away from his and her cheeks tinging red. Cullen was cursing himself, wishing he hadn’t mentioned it, when she gave a short, sharp shake of her head. Her eyes flicked back up and there was a defiant spark in them that was at odds with the look on her face. 

“They won’t know.” That surprised him, but before he could say anything she hurried on, “I’m not … I’m not really supposed to be this far away from camp. But one of the halla got loose and I wanted to get her back before anyone noticed. I should take you back with me, but …” 

She trailed off, her nosed wrinkled with confusion. Perhaps she didn’t know herself why she was letting him go. 

“ _Garas_. Come,” she said finally, “I’ll take you back to the bridge.”

Cullen hesitated only a moment when she started walking, then began following her. His heart rate had slowed to something resembling normal again, and he didn’t know why but he trusted the girl not to be lying or leading him into a trap. It was strange; he had spent his whole life being told how fearsome and savage the Dalish were, how he should fear them and hope never to cross paths with one. But when he looked ahead all he saw was a girl, one only a little younger than himself and not that much different.

Yes, there were differences … the pointed ears, her smaller, lighter build, the fact that she could move so lightly over the ground that she didn’t make a sound, while Cullen felt clumsy and uncoordinated in comparison; he winced every time he heard a twig snap or a leave crunch beneath his boots. Still, when he had met her gaze, even as she was holding a blade to his throat, in her face there had been the same kind of fear he himself had been feeling.

The thought was reassuring in the present moment, but also set his stomach twisting itself into uncomfortable knots. If he had been caught by someone else, he might well have been killed. But equally, if she was caught on his side of the bridge she would likely be killed as well. So what did that say about either of their peoples?

She led him around the slope he had fallen down to a less steep pathway cutting at angle towards the river, and the bridge. It was still an uphill climb, however, and Cullen felt his bruises aching with each burning step they took. He wasn’t looking forward to the hour-long walk home once he was back in human territory. And he still didn’t know how he was going to explain to his mother where he had disappeared to and why he was coming back covered in dirt, sweat and bruises. 

The roar of the Drakon filled his ears as they crested the hill and came to the top of the channel through which it flowed. Cullen glanced down at the murky, blue-green water, and then back to the Dalish girl who had come to a halt a little way from the end of the bridge. 

“I, um. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She still seemed guarded as she watched him, but she held herself with less tension. “You can’t come back. You know that?”  
Cullen nodded. To set foot in Dalish territory again really would be courting death. Although it meant he would never see this girl again, to repay her. “I know. That would be really stupid.”

The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. “Yes, it would be.”

“At least I, uh, won the bet, I suppose.”

A small frown creased her features at those words, and she asked curiously, “How will you prove it?”

“What?”

“The bet was that you wouldn’t cross the bridge, right? I don’t see anyone waiting.” She waved a hand at the empty expanse on the other side of the river. “How will you prove that you did?”

Cullen’s stomach plummeted, as that most obvious of problems hadn’t before occurred to him.

“Oh, _Maker_.”

The girl shook her head in disbelief.

“Stupid,” she muttered, so quietly Cullen almost didn’t hear, and then pulled a wooden charm hanging from a leather thong from around her neck and tossed it to him. He fumbled in his surprise, almost dropping it before getting a firm grip. When he looked, he saw it was a flat halla’s head, holes bored through its antlers for the thong. 

He looked up at her, confused. “Why …?”

“It’s Dalish. It will prove you were here, won’t it?”

“Yes, but won’t you …?”

She shrugged. “I’ll just say I lost it. I would have stopped wearing it anyway once I get my hunter’s talisman. It’s fine.”

“Thank you,” Cullen said again, not sure what else he could say. He slipped the necklace over his head and tucked the hall pendant into his shirt so it wouldn’t be seen, and then smiled at her. “I wish I could give you something in return.”

“It’s okay.” She glanced at the bridge behind her and then a grin flitted over her face. “Maybe I’ll come and visit you one day to get it back.”

“Wouldn’t that be stupid?” Cullen asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t want to her be in danger, but he wouldn’t be sorry to see her again. There was something about her … he thought, under different circumstances, she would be fun to know. Maybe they could even have been friends. 

She laughed. “Probably. I won’t announce I’m there by falling down a hill and screaming, though.”

Cullen gaped at her. “I – I didn’t – I wasn’t …”

But she was laughing again, and all he could do was pull a face and pretend his mouth wasn’t twitching into a smile even as he flushed with embarrassment. 

“ _Ir abelas_. That was mean,” she said after a moment, when she was finishing giggling.

“But true,” Cullen admitted, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. He looked at her for a moment. “Maybe I’ll see you again then.”

“Maybe you will. If I decide to be stupid.”

Something about the words seemed final, ending the conversation, so Cullen nodded at her again and moved past her to the bridge. Even with the river rushing over the rocks beneath him, his boots seemed to echo loudly on the stone. He took two steps before turning back and asking, “What’s your name?” 

She was quiet for a moment, and he wondered if she was ignoring him or hadn’t heard. Then she called back, “Eilidh.”

Her voice was lilting, her tongue twisting round the syllables so they sounded like a sigh of the wind. It suited her. 

“I’m Cullen. Thank you for helping me, Eilidh.” 

She smiled. “ _Dareth shiral_ , Cullen.”

When he reached the human side he glanced back over his shoulder one last time, but she had disappeared back into the trees as if she had never been there. If it wasn’t for the weight of the halla pendant against his chest, he might have thought he had imagined her.


	2. A Surprise

“ _Rutherford_!”

The Knight-Captain’s voice roared through the training yard, over the ringing clash of metal on metal, and Cullen winced.

“Rutherford, what’s that in your hand?” 

“A – a shield, sir.”

“Oh, good, you _do_ know what it is!” Greagoir’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Now why don’t you try _blocking with it_!”

Even though most of the other recruits were concentrating on their own sparring matches and paying him no attention – and those who were were understanding, having been on the end of similar scoldings themselves – Cullen still felt the heat of an embarrassed blush rising up his neck and cheeks. That in itself just made him more frustrated, that he still got so flustered even after two years of training under Greagoir.

He gritted his teeth and took a moment to compose himself, breathing steadily in and out. Then, straightening up, he squared his shoulders and reminded himself that he was a soldier. If he failed or made a mistake, he would just have to pick himself back up and try again. 

“Yes, sir,” he called, but Greagoir had already moved on to shout at another recruit about his poor stance. 

Cullen turned back to his sparring partner, a boy a few years older than him, Lucan Trevelyan. Other recruits might have kept hammering at him after the first blow got past Cullen’s shield and caught him on the forearm in a white burst of pain. If he wasn’t overseeing twenty other pairs of recruits, Greagoir probably would have insisted on it; in a real fight, if they got past an enemy’s shield they would be expected to take the advantage and go for the kill, not pull back and let their opponent gather themselves. Lucan was kinder than that, though.

“You ready?” he asked now, as Cullen brought his shield and blunted practice sword back up. 

“Yes.” 

Cullen moved first, coming it low and bringing his sword across in a horizontal sweep. It was an opening swing, to test Lucan’s defences, and the older boy blocked it with his shield and brought his own sword down in an arcing shot. This time Cullen had his shield ready, and the clash of metal reverberated through his body. He grunted with the strength of it, digging his feet into the sand of the training ground to keep his balance. 

They circled around each other, taking advantage of having more space to manoeuvre since they were near the edge of the training ground. It was a large arena spreading out from the back of the barracks, with targets lined up at one end for individual training and archery practice. It was deliberately set away from the city so that there was nothing to distract the recruits other than each other; there was only the sprawling stone barracks, built at the edge of the city, on one side, and the forest stretching out towards the mountains on the other.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen could just see Alistair trying to duck under the elbow of a large, barrel-chested recruit fighting behind him and at the same time parry a blow from his own sparring partner. But he couldn’t pay attention to Alistair’s match without losing focus on his own and leaving himself open to another blow from Lucan.   
He lunged in with another swing to try and find a weakness in Lucan’s defences, but again it was easily parried. Then it was his turn to block as Lucan pushed forward and turned the attack back on him, gracefully moving from overhead blows to underarm swings. Cullen was ready with his shield but felt the shocks running through him with each blow Lucan rained down on him. 

The force of the assault threatened to unbalance him, and he took several step backs to steady himself. Breathing heavily, he peered over it to try and see if Lucan’s swings were leaving him open anywhere that he might be able to get a swing in and reverse the momentum of their match. It would be difficult; he would have to catch Lucan on his upswing, when his side was vulnerable, and he would need to get the timing just right or he would be leaving himself completely open. 

He gripped his sword tightly, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet so he was ready to dart forward. Tilting his shield upwards just a little, he caught Lucan’s next underarm swing on the edge and threw his arm wide. The jerking motion caught Lucan by surprise and he stumbled backwards a few steps to keep his balance, both arms thrown out. 

Cullen dropped his guard and dashed forward to take the strike – 

– and was distracted by a flicker of movement far behind Lucan, in between the trees at the edge of the forest that rimmed the practice yard. A figure, just visible in the shadows, small and slight with ears that, although it was difficult to be sure at a distance, looked like they tapered to a point.

_Eilidh_?

As quickly as he had lost focus Cullen was brought back to the present moment when Lucan, who had only needed those precious few seconds to reorient himself, brought his sword back round and with a curling sweep disarmed him. Cullen watched his sword skitter away across the ground; then there was only pain and breathlessness as Lucan threw his weight behind his shield and into Cullen, knocking the younger boy flat on his back.

For several moments Cullen just lay where he was, too stunned to do otherwise. The sounds of the training yard, Gregoir’s shouting, the raised voices of the other recruits, the clang of steel meeting steel, all of it faded to muffled background noise as Cullen’s thoughts raced over each other. Had he really just seen …? But what would she be doing here? Had she let him spot her? He couldn’t imagine her being seen so easily otherwise. It was too dangerous, what was she thinking? 

“Cullen? _Cullen_!” Lucan’s voice broke into his musings, sending them scattering away like frightened rabbits. “Are you okay?”

“Wh-what? Oh, yes.” He levered himself up into a sitting position, and gratefully accepted Lucan’s outstretched hand to help him to his feet. “Just needed to catch my breath.”

The older boy eyed him for a moment, one eyebrow cocked, thoughtful. “That was a good match. What happened at the end?”

“I thought …” Cullen hesitated, unsure what to say. It didn’t even cross his mind to do what anyone else would have done; to say he had seen a Dalish would cause alarm, set them all angrily hunting for the intruder. “I overthought. Distracted myself.”

Lucan nodded, and clapped him understandingly on the shoulder. “It happens. You’ll learn. You’ve got a lot of potential, you know.”

As the other boy headed back towards the barracks, Cullen let his gaze drift briefly back to the edge of the trees.

There was nothing there; just shadow and leaves swaying in the wind.

It must have been a figment of his imagination. She couldn’t be here. 

***

He had thought about her more than once since she had saved him four years ago. 

He had never told Alistair the truth about what had happened, saying instead that he had found the halla pendant caught on a branch. Even if Alistair understood and didn’t judge him for it, if anyone else ever found out he would be considered a traitor; he had broken the treaty and consorted with the enemy. And besides, Cullen didn’t want to share the memory of Eilidh with anyone else. That was his – his to protect, his to keep secret. 

But he remembered.

He would find himself tracing the horns of the pendant with his fingertips, remembering the way she had cocked her head at him, curious, and how she had been surprisingly soft-spoken. He remembered the bright green of her eyes, hard as gemstones at first as she glared at him, then softening to something like warmth when she laughed. He remembered the slight tremble in her arm as she held the blade to his throat before lowering it. 

Their brief meeting had only been a few minutes long, but it had turned Cullen’s whole world upside down. When he returned home he was full of doubts and questions to which he couldn’t give voice. He looked at his parents, his teachers, the soldiers that patrolled the city and who he would soon be training with, and wondered how many of them had actually seen one of the Dalish they so feared and hated. How many of them really knew what they were talking about? Were the other things they had told him because it was what they had been taught, but which weren’t true?

But how much did Cullen know when it came down to it? If others from Eilidh’s clan had found him, he would have been killed on sight. Perhaps she was an exception …

… and if she was what did that make Cullen, since any other human would likely have killed her?

He felt torn. The questions chased themselves endlessly around his head, like a swarm of angry bees; always buzzing and stinging, never giving him any peace. He tossed and turned in his bed, was distracted in his training and during Chantry services. He wondered about Eilidh, what she was doing and where she was. Was she as plagued by these questions as he was? Did she feel the same doubt he did?

For the first few months he kept watching, hoping more than expecting to see her. When he had time to himself he took long walks in the forest just in case she appeared. She never did, and after a while he realised how ridiculous an idea it was. It was too dangerous. Like she had said, he had been stupid to ever take Alistair’s bet and cross the bridge. She wouldn’t make the same mistake.

After about a year, it really dawned on him that he would never see her again. It was a strangely disappointing thought.

***

“Well, that was fun.” Alistair caught up with Cullen as the recruits all trailed back into the barracks. He stretched his arms over his head and gave a wry grin. “Nothing like ending the day by being beaten black and blue.”

“I think the point is to stop the other person from beating you black and blue,” Cullen pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Alistair paused in his stretches and turned to look at him with an expression of wide-eyed shock. “No! Really? I thought the winner was whoever ended up on their arse first.”

Exasperated amusement made Cullen’s lips twitch despite his effort to maintain a straight face. He was often irritated by Alistair’s constant sarcasm and reliance on humour, given his tendency to take things probably too seriously much of the time, but somehow it also always made him want to laugh. Alistair knew that and took great delight in needling Cullen so that he wanted to strangle him, but couldn’t because he was too busy snorting with laughter. It was an odd sort of friendship, but it had kept them going over the last four years of training.

“That explains why you lose so often, then,” Cullen returned now. 

“This from the boy who was just flattened by Lucan Trevelyan.”

“I’m surprised you noticed anything other than the beating you were getting.”

It was the kind of response Alistair would expect, but it was also in part a deflection. While it wasn’t unusual for Cullen to lose sparring matches – everyone did occasionally – it was unusual for him to be beaten so thoroughly; Alistair often made fun of him for spending so many hours practicing his forms and manoeuvres, far more than the other recruits did, but it paid off in the training ring when Cullen was able to hold his own against the older recruits (Alistair, by contrast, was far more naturally talented with a blade and easily won his matches when he put his mind to it, but he was too Maker-damned lazy to put the effort in). He hadn’t been thrown flat on his back like that since the first weeks of training.

If Alistair got it into his head to ask why Cullen was distracted … he supposed if pressed he could come up with some kind of lie, but he didn’t know what he could say that would really be believable.

Before Alistair could reply, however, another voice rang across the training yard.

“Cullen!”

Both boys turned and watched as a slight, but fierce-looking girl with short-cropped dark hair pushed through the other recruits to get to them.

“Cullen. Are you alright?” Cassandra’s dark eyes were concerned. Her voice still carried the thick Nevarran accent of her homeland, which she had left a year ago to train under the knights of Fereldan. She was determined but fair-minded, down-to-earth and direct, and after her arrival she and Cullen had soon become good friends. “I saw your match.” 

“I’m sure you did,” Alistair muttered under his breath, earning himself a sharp glare from Cassandra. He was always teasing her about the crush she supposedly had on Trevelyan; although she had never admitted it, the spots of colour that appeared in her cheeks whenever Lucan was mentioned spoke volumes.

She turned back to Cullen after sparing Alistair one last scowl. “You went down fairly hard. What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Cullen assured her. He resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck as he spoke, knowing it would be a sure sign that he was nervous. “I just … overthought things. End of the day tiredness, you know.”

There was a faintly sceptical manner to the way she eyed him, but she nodded and to his relief changed the subject to their history lesson that morning as they filed into the barracks and removed their armour, then headed to the mess hall with the rest of the recruits to eat.   
Cullen was barely aware of the food that was served, or of Alistair and Cassandra bickering about Fereldan strategy during border skirmishes with Orlais. His thoughts kept straying to the line of trees outside and the figure he thought he had seen leaning out from behind them. His feet itched to run out and see if he could find her, but he couldn’t, not while the others were still there and would ask where he was going.

He would have to wait until everyone else was asleep, he decided as he daydreamed through the evening Chantry service and trailed after Alistair to the dorm they shared with the other fourth year recruits. It shouldn’t take too long; they were usually all so tired from the day’s training that they were asleep in minutes. He would have to be careful to avoid the soldiers on guard duty though, he considered. Climbing out the window was probably his best bet.

He wandered over to the far wall and glanced out just to be certain, under pretence of splashing some water from one of the ewers lined up for the recruits on his face. Yes, there was a trellis climbing the wall right past the window that should hold his weight. He couldn’t resist a glance towards the trees, but they were still, no movement but for the faint sway of distance branches.

Stripped down to his undershirt and breeches, Cullen climbed on to his bed and lay back on his pillow for show. He just had to wait until the other dozen boys in the room were asleep, for their breathing to slow and even out, and he could tip-toe across the room and climb out. Then he could sprint across the fields to the forest and find her.  
If she had, in truth, been there.

Just as soon as the others were asleep, he thought … as his eyes slowly drooped closed, and his own breathing deepened … and he sank slowly, inexorably, down into darkness …

A hand over his mouth woke him. For a moment he went rigid, until his mind caught up with his instincts and he realised it was probably Alistair wanting his help to raid the kitchens again. Cullen turned his head to glare at him, but found himself looking into a pair of eyes that even in the darkness were unmistakably green, shining unnaturally bright in what thin moonlight had infiltrated the room. Eyes set in a slim oval face with ears that swept back like knife blades. 

Memories of the afternoon suddenly came rushing back and Cullen felt his own body jerk in surprise. Sounds of shock and consternation tried to leave his mouth but Eilidh clamped her hand tighter over his mouth and bent close to whisper in his ear.

“ _Atish! Atish, shem_. The others will wake.” 

Hearing her voice, soft but urgent, feeling her breath warm against his ear and the weight of her hand against his mouth, smelling the scent of her, like leaves and flowers and something a little like horses, made him really believe she was here. He relaxed, though his heart was still beating faster than normal, and slowly she removed her hand and shifted back enough to let him clamber out of the bed. 

He scrabbled around for his jerkin, swearing under his breath when one of the floorboards squeaked loudly under his feet. A couple of the boys snorted and rolled over in their sleep, for a moment sending fear icing down Cullen’s spine, but to his immense relief no one woke. He could feel Eilidh’s amused gaze as he pulled the jerkin on over his undershirt and quickly shoved his feet into his boots, and couldn’t quite stop the flush from creeping up the back of his neck. 

Ushering Eilidh over to the window, he was unsurprised when she moved so lightly she made barely any sound at all. One of the shutters was already pushed open, telling him she must have used this way to get in as well. He waited until she was at the bottom of the trellis before following her, wincing slightly with each sway and creak of the wooden frame. But it held, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker as he dropped safely to the ground.

There was no one about outside, but they kept to the shadows along the side of the building until the last minute, when they broke out and ran and quickly and quietly as possibly across the training arena and over the fields behind it until they disappeared into the treeline. Once the barracks were obscured from view they slowed their pace, both breathing harder now, and came to a stop in the shadow of a large oak.

While they caught their breath, Cullen took the opportunity to look at Eilidh properly. She had grown since they last saw each other, although not as much as he had, and the dark braid hanging over one shoulder was longer. Her frame had filled out … Cullen felt his face turn red as he noticed the new curves, and with an effort brought his eyes back to her face before she could notice. She looked more sure of herself, though he supposed she had to be not only to cross the bridge but actually sneak into a building full of humans training to kill her on sight. But her smile was the same, just playing at the corners of her mouth and crinkling her eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked finally, keeping his voice low despite that there was no one around to hear them. Then, realising that sounded somewhat blunt and rude, flushed again. “I mean … it’s just. It’s dangerous.”

She shrugged, but looked a little embarrassed. “I thought … if you could be brave enough to cross the bridge, then so could I.”

The sideways compliment sent a warm glow of pleasure through Cullen’s chest, and he fought to keep a smile from his face. “I’m brave now? I thought I was stupid.”

The corner of her mouth tugged into a grin. “I think you can be brave and stupid at the same time.”

Cullen chuckled and for a while they just stood there, smiling at each other. 

“I saw you earlier,” he said finally. “When I was training.”

She nodded. “I didn’t mean to get so close to the city … I just, I crossed the bridge and it seemed a little …”

“Anticlimactic?” 

He could well understand that. When the armistice with the Dalish was first signed and the two sides retreated, there had been armed guards stationed by the bridge that acted as a kind of border patrol to ensure the treaty was maintained. But over a hundred years, as they became more used to the uneasy peace and their best soldiers were posted to guard the more fractious border with Orlais, the guards withdrew and stuck to patrolling the city limits. 

Now there was no one around to even know whether or not the bridge was crossed – as both Cullen and Eilidh had proven. If Eilidh hadn’t been there when Cullen tumbled down that hill, he imagined he would have felt dissatisfied to simply find himself in a forest, with no one the wiser than he had just broken the greatest taboo he knew. Like it didn’t mean that much in the end.

“Anticlimactic,” Eilidh echoed in agreement. “So I thought I’d look around. When I got close I heard the swords and I was curious. I didn’t expect to see you there.”

That made sense when he thought about it, but he felt a sense of almost disappointment that she hadn’t specifically been looking for him. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, either,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. 

She looked away, and reached out to play with a vine of ivy twined around the oak tree they were under. Keeping her gaze averted she said quietly, “I’m glad we did. See each other again.”

Cullen felt a grin spreading unbidden over his face and, pleased and embarrassed, looked away himself. He coughed a little, searching for the right words to say, but ended up with only, “I, ah. Yeah.” 

He glanced at her, and saw she was looking at him sideways, a tiny, secretive smile playing about her lips. He opened his mouth to try and say something else, but she beat him to it.

“By the way … do you always get beaten that badly?”

Cullen flushed. “Y-you distracted me.”

She giggled, and he could feel the back of his neck heating up.

Wanting to change the subject from his lack of combat prowess, he cast around for something to say and came up with a question. “How did you know where my dorm was?”

Eilidh shrugged. “I saw you looking out the window.”

“I was going to sneak out and try to find you … but I guess I was more tired than I realised.” He gave a sheepish chuckle and she smiled in return. 

Her face lit up when she smiled, like the soft glow of a candle flame or a firefly. Cullen didn’t understand how he was supposed to hate her. How he was supposed to do anything but want to keep making her smile and laugh so her eyes shone. A fear to which he couldn’t quite put a name crept like ice down his spine when he considered that if anyone else saw her they wouldn’t hesitate to attack her.

“H-how long,” he started, turning to amble further into the woods, partly to try and relax his suddenly tense muscles and partly to put more distance between them and city. ”How long do you have until you need to go?”

“A little while. Maybe an hour or so.” She caught up with him and looked up at where the stars were beginning to gleam in the night sky. “My cousins will cover for me if anyone notices I’m not there. But I’ll need to be back before morning.”

“You have cousins?”

“Two.” She nodded, and tentatively started telling him about them. They were near her age and the three of them were as close as siblings. They had all sworn an oath to be together always, she told him, holding out her palm to show him the silver scar where they had sealed their pact in blood. One cousin would be her hunting partner when they were old enough to go out on their own, and from the stories she told he sounded something of a mischief maker. Her other cousin, the oldest of the three, was the First of her Clan, which Cullen gathered to mean she was a mage and would one day lead them – a strange concept to Cullen, as mages in his experience were feared more than they were trusted. He wondered, not for the first time, about Dalish society and how different it seemed to be to anything he knew. Humans had had barely any contact with the elves since the civil war, so what little Cullen had been taught was vague, garbled second-hand stories with little basis, he had slowly come to realise, than old prejudices. 

In return Cullen told her about his siblings, about how he and his brother Branson secretly practiced chess whenever they could in the hope that one day one of them would beat their older sister. How his younger sister, who was only a toddler still, would follow him around whenever he was home and how he tried to pick out toys and gifts for her at the market so she wouldn’t be so sad when he had to leave again. 

Cullen lost track of time while they talked, the world seeming to shrink to just the two of them. It was only when they came to the path that led back out of the forest and down to the bridge that he remembered it wasn’t. The moon had drifted high across the sky, and Eilidh bit her lip as she looked at it.

“I need to get back,” she said, but didn’t move from where they were standing. 

“Yes …” He looked at her for a moment, then a thought occurred to him and he reached to pull the halla pendant he was still wearing from around his neck. “Do you want this back?”

Her eyes had widened in surprise when he lifted it up, and she hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. “You keep it.”

A flicker of pleasure warmed him. He had gotten used to the weight of the pendant round his neck; although he couldn’t have kept it from her, he would have felt sad to give it up. 

“Okay.” He looked down at the wooden carving, then back up at her. Taking a breath, he said quickly before he could lose his nerve, “I’m glad we saw each other again, too.”  
She smiled. Placing one foot on the path, then the other, she slowly started walking away from him, but after only a few steps turned back. 

“ _Dareth shiral_ , Cullen.”

“You said that last time. What does it mean?”

“’Safe journey’. It’s how we say farewell.”

She started to walk away again, but she hadn’t gotten far before something in Cullen made him called out. “Eilidh! Does it have to be?”  
As she turned, he could see she was frowning in confusion. “Does it have to be what?”

“Farewell. Can’t we see each other again?”

He shouldn’t be asking that. He shouldn’t even be thinking it. But he didn’t want this to be his last memory of her. He didn’t want her to walk away into the night, and to know that was it.

She hesitated, biting her lip again, then met his gaze.

“In a month,” she said. “I’ll wait for you on my side.”

Before he could reply, she turned and ran down the path, soon disappearing from his sight. 

A month. 

He clutched the halla pendant tightly in his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially, I was sent an AU drabble prompt on Tumblr for Cullen/f!Lavellan, for an AU "where their love is taboo". I wrote a short drabble of 1,000 or so words, spanning several years in the life of a Cullen and Lavellan who could only ever meet in secret because of a conflict between humans and elves. I kept thinking about it after I published it, fleshing out the world and expanding the snippets of the story I had written. So this is an attempt to write a full, extended and detailed version of that AU. 
> 
> (For those interested the original drabble can be read here: http://lavellenchanted.tumblr.com/post/113205277307/36-living-in-a-society-where-their-love-is-taboo)


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